Long on Diagnosis, Short on Cure

Last night I heard this old guy play guitar

He could push you with the music. He could take you far

But he would push you with his right hand

and always hide his left

I just had one question for him, "Mister,

Have you ever been convicted of theft?"

CHORUS

Cause He'd (They'd) say "This one's close to dying

This one's fine

This one's past the turning point.

He's crossed the line."

Now he was awful good at triage,

that's for sure,

But he was long on diagnosis,

and short on cure.

A long-winded conversation in a dorm room late at night

Not so much about the truth as whether you said it right

I raised the prospect of hope eternal. I was laughed at and scorned.

They rolled their eyes like dice on a table

But their number was forlorn.

BRIDGE

Now, you can take your chance

Beat your fists on the boards of despair

You end up with splinters in your knuckles

thinking, "unjust, unfair."

Or you can fall on the altar of sadness

and call for the knife.

But either way you're just denying your hearing.

Put your ear to God's chest, and clearly

it's the pulse of life.

CHORUS

Now you been close dying

In fact you've crossed the line

You done sailed right past the turning point,

thinking everything's fine

But when the gas runs out

and your sitting there stone cold

You think, "I was young when all this started

Now I'm old."

But when the doctor pushes the triage crew aside

he says, "You're all long on diagnosis

short on cure."

And he turns to you and says,

"Come on, Darlin' we can make this

Yes, I'm sure."